Amber (11 page)

As the rowboat neared the shore, Kitty began to recognise faces she had known, both Maori and Pakeha. She glanced at Rian seated next to her: he rested his hand on her knee and squeezed, and she felt a little better.

When they were still a hundred yards out, several dozen men detached themselves from the larger group and danced down to the hard sand just beyond the hissing waves. The strands of their piupiu rattled as they advanced, their bare feet making no noise at all. Some wielded taiaha adorned with feathers and dog-hair, and the long thin spears called tao, while others carried feather-tufted tewhatewha, or long-handled battle-axes. A dozen held patu of both stone and whalebone. Their eyes wide and rolling grotesquely, the whites in stark contrast to their brown faces, and their tongues snaking in and out of wide-stretched mouths, they hissed and grunted, not chanting, but not silent either. Backwards and forwards across the sand they came, stabbing
with their weapons and challenging the approaching rowboat, daring the occupants to set foot on land.

Kitty’s hands felt sweaty and she wiped them on her skirt, then asked Ropata nervously, ‘Is it a wero? Are they angry with us?’

Without looking at her, Ropata replied, ‘No. The jumping is from side to side so it is a tutu ngarahu, a haka of welcome, not war. But it is still a challenge.’

The rowboat grounded gently a minute later, and Mick and Pierre, somewhat warily, climbed out and began to nudge the prow up the beach. When they had all disembarked, they stood and faced the taua as the haka continued. Kitty, with the box in her arms, stood behind the men. From the tension in their stances, she could see that Gideon, Mick and Pierre were ill at ease. And not surprisingly: the haka party was, at the very least, alarming.

The crowd had formed into a horseshoe, and she could see Haunui now, standing in the centre, a small boy next to him. She couldn’t tell if Haunui had recognised her or not: if he had, he wasn’t acknowledging the fact. He stared resolutely towards the front, his eyes unwavering and his jaw clenched. Beyond the Maoris stood the missionaries. Kitty recognised Rebecca and Win Purcell, Marianne Williams, and Frederick Tait, Jannah’s long-suffering husband, but there were also several unfamiliar faces.

As the haka group receded towards the horseshoe, a lone warrior came prancing through them, taking quick, light little steps that tautened the muscles of his calves and thighs, moving as gracefully as though he were gliding on ice. His hair was tied up, greased and adorned with two of the coveted huia feathers, and his moko covered his entire face, indicating that he had considerable mana. He made a downward slash with the long blade of his taiaha, cutting the air audibly, and began to manoeuvre it from hand to hand with breathtaking speed and dexterity, beginning the wero, the challenge proper. He grimaced and hissed, thrust and twirled, never once breaking eye contact with Rian. Then
from the waistband of his piupiu he plucked a fern frond, dropped it on the ground at his feet and danced away backwards, the sharp tip of his taiaha pointing directly at Rian’s heart.

There was a moment when there was no sound at all, when the tension became so thick that Kitty could feel it ringing in her ears, then Rian stepped forward, picked up the frond and tucked it into his own waistband.

A collective sigh came from the Maoris, and suddenly a karanga began. The horseshoe broke and an ancient woman stepped forward, her powerful but grief-laden voice soaring in a lament for the dead. Her wrinkled face was green with the blurred lines of old moko, and Kitty recognised her as Erunora, the oldest and most revered kuia of Wai’s hapu. Her thin, white hair was crowned with a wreath of green leaves, and only then did Kitty notice that all the other women wore, or carried, greenery as well, and she realised that they were in mourning. For Wai.

When Erunora had finished, her voice dying away on a note thinner than the wind and sadder than anything Kitty had ever heard, Ropata stepped around Rian and began to reply. He spoke in Maori, and Kitty understood that, in accordance with tradition, he was stating who he was and where he was from, and also that he belonged to the hapu who sailed on the
Katipo
, whose chief was Rian Farrell.

He gestured to Kitty then to come forward. Gideon, Mick and Pierre stepped aside and she moved to the front, the waka taonga containing Wai’s bones held out before her. The weeping and keening began in earnest then, and a great tide of grief flowed out from the Maoris and washed over them all.

Kitty began to walk, feeling her eyes fill with tears and her face grow hot with the pain of mourning her dear friend. Her heart felt swollen and her throat ached with the sobs she longed to release, but knew she couldn’t, not yet.

Erunora limped down the sand to meet her, resting a gnarled
hand on the box to lighten at least the spiritual load as they walked together towards Haunui, who stood in silence, tears coursing down his homely face. When Kitty was only a few feet away, he raised his arms to receive his daughter’s remains. Kitty settled the box in his arms. He nodded once, a simple gesture so filled with gratitude, dignity and grief that Kitty thought her heart might break.

She had so much she wanted to say to him, but knew not to disturb the protocol of this intensely personal moment of mourning. She desperately also wanted to crouch down in front of the little boy who was now hanging onto Haunui’s trouser leg, to tip up his chin and look into his face and see how much of his mother was in it, how much of her had been passed on to live another longer and happier life, but she knew that would have to wait as well.

Erunora then formally invited Rian’s ‘hapu’ to Pukera village for the tangi, for which, she stated, preparations were already under way. Ropata thanked her, and the crowd began to break into smaller groups, awaiting word to return to the village themselves.

Haunui sat down cross-legged on the sand, gripping the box so tightly that the knuckles of his big hands were almost white, his tears splashing onto the carved lid. Four or five people stayed near to him, ready should he need their physical or emotional support. Erunora was one.

Kitty knelt on the sand before him, and touched his sleeve. ‘Hello, Haunui,’ she said.

He raised his swollen red eyes to her. ‘Hello, my little Pakeha daughter.’

Chapter Four

T
he women were still wailing, and Kitty wished they would stop. But she knew that this was the way they mourned. She had sometimes thought that the Maori approach to death and grieving—the public weeping and the embracing, and the long, three-day funeral—was a far more satisfactory arrangement than the English tradition of quickly burying the deceased, then grieving behind closed doors; but this way was also so very exhausting.

‘How did you know we would be arriving today?’ she asked Haunui. ‘And how did you know we would be bringing Wai?’

Haunui blew his nose fastidiously into an enormous handkerchief, then shoved it in his pocket. ‘Tahi had a dream.’

Kitty raised her eyebrows questioningly.

‘He woke up one morning,’ Haunui explained, ‘and said he had dreamed that his mama would be coming home on this day, just as the sun was rising. So we started making the preparations. He has had visions before. He has never been wrong.’

Kitty knew better than to question the importance the Maoris attached to visions and other mysticisms. She sat back on her heels and regarded the little boy sitting close beside his grandfather, his small, brown hand resting lightly on the waka taonga containing his mother’s remains. He had his head bowed and Kitty could see his scalp through his parting. His black hair was fine and glossy and reached his shoulders, the heavy wave common to most Maori hair absent.

‘Did you know your mama was coming today?’ she asked him.

He looked up then, and Kitty almost cried out with startled delight. ‘But he looks so like Wai!’ she exclaimed to Haunui.

The boy had his mother’s little pointed chin, her wide cheekbones, and her slanted eyes, though his were hazel, not the deep chocolate of Wai’s.

Haunui smiled. ‘Ae, he does. Better his mother than his father, though, eh?’

‘Yes, indeed,’ Kitty agreed, recalling her uncle’s long, dour face and his thin lips, pinched tight with hypocritical piety. ‘You’re a clever little man, aren’t you?’ she said to Tahi.

He nodded, his hair swinging. ‘Whaea Williams says so.’

Kitty opened her mouth to ask him if he realised that they were cousins, then abruptly shut it again and turned slightly away from him. ‘Does he know?’ she whispered to Haunui.

‘Ae. I have not kept much from him. Only the…nature of it.’

‘My papa has gone away,’ Tahi announced.

‘I know, sweetheart,’ Kitty replied gently. ‘He’s in heaven, with your mama.’

Tahi shook his head vehemently. ‘No. He is somewhere else.’

‘Oh.’ Kitty wondered if he meant hell. He was probably too young to be attending the mission school, but the more florid aspects of the Church Missionary Society’s version of Christianity did tend to get passed around rather indiscriminately, and she knew for a fact that Maori mothers sometimes told troublesome children that if they didn’t behave they would go to hell.

‘He is down there,’ Tahi said, pointing at the sand.

Kitty glanced at Haunui.

He shrugged. ‘It is as good a place for him as any.’ Then his expression softened. ‘It is very good to see you again, Kitty. I have missed you.’

Kitty felt tears threatening again. ‘I’ve missed you too, Haunui.’

‘Thank you for bringing her home. I will sleep easy now. And so will she.’

‘I hope so.’

‘And you are happy, being Rian’s wife?’ Haunui asked, gesturing at the ring on Kitty’s hand.

‘Oh,
very
. But how did you know?’

‘Your mother wrote to your aunt. I am very happy for both of you. And you have not had to give him too many kicks in the pants?’

Kitty grinned. ‘Not yet.’

‘Ah, that is good. That is always a sign of a successful marriage.’

Just then, Erunora tapped Haunui on the shoulder and said in her thin voice, ‘It is time to return to the village. We have much to do.’

Haunui nodded. ‘You will all be at the tangi?’ he asked Kitty.

‘Of course. We would be honoured. Thank you.’

‘And where will you stay? There is plenty of room at Pukera.’

‘Well, I was considering staying at Aunt Sarah’s. But she wasn’t with Rebecca Purcell and the others. Is she avoiding me, do you think?’

Haunui gave her an amused look. ‘Yes, she was with the others.’

‘Well, I didn’t see her.’

‘She is there now.’

Kitty turned around and stared at the group of missionaries still standing on the sand a hundred or so yards away. Someone waved—Rebecca. Kitty waved back.

‘I still can’t see Aunt Sarah,’ she said.

‘Look more closely.’ Haunui stood up. ‘You will come to the village soon? Most of the manuhiri are here now.’

Kitty knew that if the visitors from other areas had arrived, the tangi would start shortly. ‘Yes. I just want to say hello to everyone first. After that?’

‘Ae,’ Haunui said. Then his face broke into a grin as Rian approached, his sea boots crunching on the shelly sand. He took the hand Rian offered, and returned the greeting with a hongi. ‘It is good to see you, Rian. Thank you for bringing Wai home.’

‘It was an honour,’ Rian said. ‘It’s good to see you, too. I regret that it’s in such unfortunate circumstances, though.’

‘Ae. But at least she is home now.’

Kitty walked across the sand towards the small group of missionaries. As she neared them, Rebecca Purcell detached herself and came to meet her, her arms wide.

‘Kitty Carlisle!’ she exclaimed as she enfolded Kitty in a generous embrace. ‘How wonderful to see you! Or rather, I should say Mrs Farrell, shouldn’t I? Congratulations, dear. I’m so happy for you.’

‘Thank you, Rebecca. That means a great deal to me,’ Kitty replied, standing back to inspect her friend. ‘You look very well.’

Rebecca hadn’t changed much since Kitty had last seen her. A little heavier around the middle, perhaps, and there were feathers of grey streaking the red hair at her temples, but her welcoming smile and kind eyes were the same.

‘That’s very nice of you to say, Kitty, but I must admit I’m having to let out my stays a little more each year. Of course, having two more babies hasn’t helped.’ She grasped Kitty’s hand. ‘Are you happy? Have you been having lots of wonderful adventures sailing the Seven Seas?’

Kitty laughed. ‘Yes, I am happy. Very.’

Rebecca looked rather relieved. ‘Oh, I
am
pleased. When
Sarah told us that you and the captain had married, well, I did wonder if that may not have been the wisest thing for you to do. Then I thought, no, that girl knows her own mind. And her own heart. She won’t have made a decision like that lightly.’

‘No, I didn’t, and I haven’t regretted it for a moment. Rebecca, where is Aunt Sarah?’

Rebecca stepped aside and pointed to a short, plump woman standing next to the much taller figure of Marianne Williams. The woman waggled her fingers in a hesitant wave, the early morning sun glinting off her spectacles.

Kitty blinked. ‘Aunt Sarah?’

‘Hello, Kitty.’

Kitty took several steps closer, finally recognising her. It was indeed Aunt Sarah, but not the thin, faded, harried-looking woman who had bodily thrown her and Wai out of the house one hot February afternoon in 1840. This Aunt Sarah was pleasingly plump, even stout, with pink cheeks and markedly smoother skin. But she must have been weeping, because her eyes were rimmed with red.

Kitty stepped forward to embrace her aunt, but Sarah raised her hands to stop her. ‘No,’ she said, and Kitty’s heart plummeted with disappointment.

But then Sarah said quickly, ‘Kitty, I need to say something to you.’ She cleared her throat nervously. ‘And that is that I am so sorry for the way I behaved towards you and Wai on the day you left Paihia. I am sorry that I doubted you and accused you both of those vile things. You were not at fault, either of you, I know that now, and I have regretted my actions every single day since.’